Then sang out Mat, “High cockelorum, jig, jig, jig,” and at the last jig was on his brother’s back with a flying leap, both in this fashion careering round the gun; Jumper lying perfectly still beside it, as he was told. They then suddenly stopped, and in sepulchral tones sang bits of every song they had learnt when working the ship, commencing with, “Oh, a bully ship and a bully crew,” following this with another solo, “And what do you think we had for dinner?” then both taking up the refrain, “Blow, boys, blow,” “A goose’s lights and a louse’s liver, blow, my bully boys, blow.”
Many other ditties followed, finishing with,—
“Now upon my life and upon my soul,
I never knew a nigger but had wool on his pole,”
&c., &c.
“Now we’ll conclude the performance,” whispered Mat; so first gently speaking to the lock of the gun, and then emitting a most atrocious noise down the barrel with his lips, he loaded, took a steady aim and fired, whilst Tim was making horrible faces in the background.
There was a death-like silence for an instant after the report had died away; and then, amidst the shrieks of the jins, the howls of the children, and the terrified yells of the men, who knocked each other over in their frantic efforts to escape, the camp was deserted.
Mat and Tim fairly rolled on the ground, convulsed with laughter, whilst Jumper amidst all this uproar rushed joyfully in, and worried the remains of the carrion bird.
Not a black skin could be seen, excepting a couple of unfortunate babies, who had been deserted by their mothers in the general stampede, and who were now squalling on the ground.
“I think that act went off pretty tidy,” remarked Tim, as soon as he could speak.